


Assassin's Creed: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Weskron



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Abstergo Industries, Alternate History, American History, Assassination, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Gun Violence, Old West, Orphans, Other, The Animus (Assassin's Creed), The Order (Assassin's Creed), United States, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4594089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weskron/pseuds/Weskron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew Emerson has a long line of important ancestors and Dr. Zane will not rest until he relives the memories of every last one, starting with Dr. Gideon Zane, an assassin from the old west, and his own father, a ruthless Templar Agent! How will their stories turn out? (AU, OC Cast)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assassin's Creed: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness

**Assassin’s Creed: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness**

_“Every man builds his world in his own image. He has the power to choose, but no power to escape the necessity of choice.”_   
_-Ayn Rand._

A young man stands in the center of an entirely all too dark room, a spotlight shown on him. He’s of average height and an athletic build, dark brown hair down to the bottom of his neck, blue eyes, and scruff covers the lower part of his face. He looks around to see nothing but darkness. Yet the darkness nearly seems like water, moving in waves and splashing forth, a cold reflection of something he’s seen before. An oath of some sort. A creed. None of it makes sense.

So he takes a step forward, only for something to light up in the darkness. A body floating in what seems like a sea of darkness. One wearing robes white as clouds, a hat adorned on his head in the style of a hood. Another step and another body lights up. This one wearing white robes as well, but this time wearing a bandana wrapped around the mouth, both the hood and the bandana leaving only the guys and forehead to be seen. Looks like something similar to what a ninja would look like. And another lights up. And another. And by now, there’s bodies surrounding him. He feels overwhelmed. And slowly the dark sea seeps in, drowning him, constricting his throat. The bodies close in slowly, their eyes opening up only for white light to shine onto him. He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around to see his father, stoic expression and suit, looking at him.

He smiles.

~

“Guh-!”

The young man wakes up, startled. He gasps for air, going into a panicked state and hyperventilating. He nearly wants to scream, but he can’t. So he breathes in heavily and very slowly, not allowing himself to have a panic attack just yet. He continues to breathe in as much air as he can, before collapsing on the bed, exhausted.

“Fucking... shit...”

It took him a few moments, but he realized he wasn’t in his usual bed. He was somewhere else. Somewhere different.

Where in the fuck...? He pushed himself off of the bed and onto the carpeted floor. Where was he? This wasn’t his apartment. Was this a girl’s place?

No it wasn’t. And he knew it wasn’t. The logo on the door proved otherwise. Abstergo Industries.

He knew why he was here. They told him the reason why.

“Fucking goddamn shit fuck ass bitch motherfucker cunt!” He growled as he got to his feet and immediately ran to the door and began to pound. “Let me out! Now!”

An electronic voice chimed in. It was of an older man, one with a gravelly voice. Nearly charming in some respects. “I’m afraid I can’t do that yet, Matthew. You need to calm down a bit.”

“Fuck you!” Another pound.

“Shh shh shh. Shh. Once you calm down, we’ll let you out. We need your mind for our project, Mr. Emerson. Please calm down.”

“Calming down? I’m calm! I’m just fuckin’ peachy!”

The voice made a clicking sound with his tongue. “If you don’t calm down soon, Matthew, we’re going to need to-”

Matthew pounded several more times before walking out and looking at the camera just above the door. “Need to? Need to what? Huh? Need to beat me until I comply? I swear to motherfucking God, if you don’t get me out of here right now, I’ll-”

“Suit yourself.”

A gas began to move into the room from the vents. Slowly, it began to envelop the room. Matthew desperately began to hold his breath, pounding on the door some more, hoping for a release of some sort. He continued hitting the door until his knuckles began to bleed and finally, he needed to let his breath go. He breathed in the gas, beginning to feel drowsy nearly immediately.

“Fu-fu...fuck you...” He murmured before falling flat on his face.

The voice chimed in once more. “You made your decision, Mr. Emerson. We need your mind. So we’ll be using it while you take a bit of a nap.”

The vents made a noise and began to vacuum the gas out of the room. In a matter of minutes, there was no trace of it. The door began to open and two security guards walked in, immediately grabbing Matthew from the floor and lifting him up, one of them holding his legs and the other holding his arms as they leave the room, accidentally bumping Matthew’s head against the doorframe.

Outside the room lay four animus’. They set him down gently on the one on the top right corner, strapping his arms in and putting the animus over his head. They begin typing on a console, manually beginning the memory recollection process. The guard gestures for the other one to come over here.

“Which one did the boss want to explore?” He says, pointing at a whole file of folders with different names, all prefixed with the word ancestor.

The guard looks at the names for a moment. “I believe... this one. The English Bloke. 1965.”

The guard asks for reassurance and the other one nods. With a shrug, he activates the animus for Matthew Emerson to relive the memories of Charles Emerson, his father.

~

_March 30th, 1959._   
_Tibetan-Indian Border._

The scene begins to unfold, the virtual world beginning to create itself, and Matthew finds himself looking at a camp from an... ethereal form of a sort. However, he cannot see his own body. It’s almost as if he’s a camera and this is all a movie.

The camp is very old fashioned, with a fire blazing in the middle of the scene while men walk around the campsite, tending to various activities. Surprisingly, however, the men aren’t oriental-asian at all. They’re clearly American men and women. But they’re in an Oriental Country, Tibet, about to head into India.

And suddenly, a man wearing a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, cargo pants, and boots emerges from a tent in the campsite, walking to the largest of the tents briskly and proudly. He has short blonde hair, stubble, and bright blue eyes with an athletic structure. He’s very young, only about twenty or so. But the aura and look he gives off is as determined and as professional as a man in his forties.

His name is Charles Emerson, the father of Matthew Emerson.

He walks straight into the tent, looking at a psychologist tending to a young Tibetan man. He wears orange and brown robes, a symbol of the Tibetan monks. He is The Fourteenth Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso.

“How is he?” Charles asks, his voice obviously of a British descent.

The psychologist looks up and smiles at him. “He’s traumatized, but he’ll get through it.”

Charles nods and sits next to the psychologist, looking at her name tag. Mary Williams printed above her picture. Tenzin begins to speak in Tibetan, the psychologist analyzing his words. Charles watches carefully, seeing both her warm and saddened reaction and the tears nearly falling from the Dalai Lama’s eyes.

“Ms. Williams, what did he say?” He asks.

Mary wipes the tears from the young man’s eyes. “Tenzin wishes to be with his people. He feels like a coward, leaving them to die while he escapes to the safe confines of India. He knows he has to go on, but his will to live as a proud man is... gone. He feels ashamed.”

Charles replies slowly after a few moments. “I understand.”

Mary Williams gives the Dalai Lama a tissue for her to blow her nose. Suddenly, a repetitive beeping noise comes from a radio communicator on the far side of the tent. He recognizes the noise immediately and as the psychologist stands up to get it, he bolts to his feet and gestures for her to sit back down. She nods as he walks over to the communicator, picks up the phone and presses it to his ear while putting the comm to his mouth.

“Hello?” A string of electronic words is fed to him. “Sir, he- poses no threat. I-” Another string of words is fed to him and he nods slowly. “Yes. I understand, Mr. Zane. It will be done. For the Order.”

He puts down the communicator and walks back over to Mary and Tenzin Gyatso.

Mary looks up at him. “What was that ab-”

Suddenly, Charles whips out an M1911 Modified Pistol from his belt, shooting the psychologist between the eyes quickly and turning it to Tenzin Gyatso.

“Sku mkhyen-”

BAM!

Charles walks outside and is met immediately with CIA forces, one holding a knife and the other a pistol. He grabs the hand as it comes toward him, gripping it and twisting it behind the agent, using him as a human shield as his friend unloads a clip into him. The agent still alive begins to reload, but the body is thrown at him, and when he recovers, he is met immediately with a palm to his stomach, and the sensation of a blade entering him. He moves his head up to look at Charles, only for his hand to wrap around his throat, gently placing him down as he dies slowly.

The British man walks into the temples, one by one, executing every CIA Personnel before finally finishing off at his tent. He had grown to take a liking to his tent mates while transferring the Dalai Lama from his homeland to India. It’s a shame they have to die too.

Charles walks into the tent and immediately shoots one who is writing a letter to his daughter back home in Louisiana. The other one looks up, his eyes bulging, only for a Hidden Blade to meet his throat swiftly and quickly. The agent slowly bleeds out on his bed as Charles walks out of the area, grabbing his barbour jacket and throwing it over his arms. He immediately grabs a jerry can of gasoline and covers the area with the liquid, grabbing the supplies he needs in a backpack while doing so. He walks away from the campsite, taking a moment to turn his body slightly and shoot the trail of gasoline, causing it and the whole campsite, along with the dead bodies, to light on fire. He shakes his head slightly at the horror of the acts he had just committed, but he walks off to a nearby open hill, where a helicopter is waiting for him.

Out comes several more CIA Agents with a man who looks nearly identical to Tenzin Gyatso. Charles shakes his head again and sits in the helicopter, looking ahead to see Chairman Mao Zedong of China across from him.

Mao bows at him slightly, smiling. “You did very well today, Mr. Emerson. You should be proud to be apart of such an... ah... illustrious order. The Templars don’t just take anyone you know.”

Charles keeps quiet as the helicopter begins to take off.

~

“What are you doing!?” The same voice as the electronic one comes into realization. “That’s not the memory nor the person we want him to relive! Idiots! I give you one simple fucking order and you can’t even get that right? Fuck you! Go back to your stations you fucking putzes.”

Matthew shakes his head and tries to stretch his body out, but finds himself tied down. He begins to struggle as the guards leave the room, leaving him only with a man in his thirties with brown hair and a goatee, along with a surprisingly athletic and lean body.

Matthew’s head slightly tilts up to read his name tag. Dr. Marcus Zane.

Matthew tries to speak, but the gas has left him drowsy. “Z-zane... my father kn-new-”

Marcus turns to see Matthew. He shakes his head slightly. “Your father knew my grandfather very well. He, in fact, raised him to be perfectly honest. He was a good man. I don’t honestly know what ended up happening to him, but he went off our radar about twenty five years ago, or something to that effect. Your family and mine have been tied together for a long time, Mr. Emerson.”

“Wh-what do you want from me...?” Matthew asks, slightly coughing.

Marcus gets to his animus console and begins going through his ancestors. “You obviously know of our company, Mr. Emerson. We know of you as well. We need something from your memories, a location of a certain something and an answer to a question of ours. As well as entertainment purposes of course, your ancestors are quite intriguing, Matthew.”

Matthew tries to struggle again, but Marcus forcefully pushes his body down onto the animus. “We still have work to do, Mr. Harper. We’re not done yet.”

“Y-you’re going to pay for that, Zane... I s-swea...”

Marcus shakes his head slightly. “Sleep now, Matthew. I’ll be taking a look through memories that are not your own while you slumber.”

And slowly, Matthew falls asleep on the animus again. Marcus continues to rifle through his ancestors before getting to the folder he was searching for. “Ah, it’s under your mother’s ancestry. Dr. Gideon Hunt. “

And with a press of a button, the memory was activated.

~

_June 1st, 1864._   
_Helena, Montana._

The scene begins to create itself, a city in the middle of nowhere, a sprawling town filled with merchants and lawmen and civilians, waiting for the day to begin. The American Frontier, the Wild West, a history of a region fragmented out of the hearts and minds of Americans at the time.

Most notably, a pair of two boys who look oddly alike sit near the train station, flicking the one coin that they own between the two of them. One has medium-length black hair and is a bit less grungy than his short-haired brother. The medium-haired boy wears a dirty grey vest, a collared shirt, and slacks, his brother wearing a coat with a brown collared shirt, leather pants, and boots.

“Hey Gideon?” The short haired brother turns to the well-dressed one.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think our parents are gonna come back today?” The younger grungy brother asks, looking at his boots and kicking them as he sits down.

The medium haired boy named Gideon turns to his younger brother and pats his back. “Maybe. I dunno, Jasper.”

That seemed to perk the boy up as he turns to the town and gets to his feet, slipping off the wooden walkway leading to the train station. “Come on, Gideon! Let’s go play!”

Jasper runs off and Gideon looks out to see him going to their usual ‘play’ spot. “Jasper! We were told not to go there by the Sheriff!”

Gideon jumps off the walkway and runs to find his brother. He makes a quick turn to see his brother already heading down the alleyway. He scrambles after his brother, turning into the double alley to see him already jumping on top of the three boxes to climb on the ruined wall. Gideon stops below him.

“Git down from there, Jasper! The Sheriff gonna find out and really give it to u-”

Turning to the right, he hears the startled and annoyed grunt of the Sheriff trotting down the alley toward them. He nearly screams before jumping on top of the boxes and climbing after his brother, thinking there is no other option.

Gideon and Jasper get to the top only for a gunshot to ring off. “Git down ‘ere you fucking bastard children!”

“Run, Jasper! Run!” Gideon yells as both boys take off across the rooftop.

Smaller feet hit the ground repeatedly as both of their sprints speed up. Finally, the brothers leap over the edge of the rooftop and land on the next, taking a few steps to regain their footing before continuing their run as the Sheriff follows on the ground below.

The boys seem to find a rhythm on the rooftops above, their only home being the rush they feel as danger follows them right behind. The only comfort being the brother they run with. The only joy being the time they spend with each other. A controlled freedom.

Finally, they attempt to leap to the saloon’s roof, but they recently installed a wooden barrier on the rooftop in case drunk patrons headed onto the roof. So as both of them leap toward the barrier, the two slam into it, tumbling down onto the ground below. Gideon takes a moment to look around, seeing his brother’s arm contorted in a way it’s not supposed to be as the Sheriff stomps down on it. Gideon himself is not hurt, but judging from the screams his brother makes as he watches the Sheriff hurt him, he can tell Jasper needs help.

“Jasper!” Gideon yelps as he gets to his feet, but the deputy grabs his shoulder and throws him down onto the ground, lifting his fist up to beat the boy, punching him once, causing his lip to bleed.

The Sheriff kicks Jasper in the stomach, possibly fracturing a rib from the force of the kick as he lifts him by his broken arm. “I told the two o’ you to stay off those rooftops. And look at you now, hurt. Maybe it ain’t cause o’ the fall, but you bein’ rebellious caused this to happen, ya hear?”

The Sheriff drops the kid and begins kicking him, taking a sick pleasure in hurting a child, in doing something that is usually so forbidden, watching his deputy beginning to beat the other boy with his fists.

But that warm and sickening delight quickly begins to cover only one part of his body. His back? Why his back? He reaches behind himself to feel the arm of a man and a blade coming from his wrist stabbing into him. The man reaches into the Sheriff’s holster, whips out his revolver, and shoots the deputy through both kneecaps. The deputy cries out in pain and falls to the ground, trying to decide whether to grasp his knees or not. The sheriff reaches out to his old friend, but not before the blade is pulled out and a bullet is lodged in his skull.

“I don’t appreciate child abuse, gentlemen. You would’ve done well to know that.” The man who just murdered two police officials says before dropping the Sheriff’s gun on top of him.

The man is middle-aged, his slicked back shoulder length hair graying at the sides. He has a greying beard to accompany his rough look. He’s tall and muscular, wearing a grey duster coat, a black vest, and a white long sleeved shirt along with leather pants and boots. His belt buckle is of a strange, somewhat triangular symbol that is also embroidered on his coat. His hat, made of the same material as his coat, is slightly dipped in the front, almost making it look like an eagle’s beak.

The mysterious man looks ahead to see one broken and one beaten child. He hears the sounds of horses closing in and shakes his head. Wish he could’ve stayed longer, but it’s obvious he has to go. But what happens to the kids? The lawmen are dumb enough around here to consider the fact that they could’ve killed them, even with their injuries. So... what is he supposed to do?

He takes a few glances to them and to the street. He growls before moving forward to grab the kids.

~

_May 15th, 1868._   
_Salt Lake City, Utah._

“Jasper, you have to consider-”

“I don’t have to consider nothing! You understand me? I’m staying, and that’s that!”

Gideon and Jasper Hunt stand inside of their room in a local inn. Gideon has kept his upholstered look, adopting sideburns now, but looking somewhat scrawny compared to his athletic and gruff brother, who is now sporting stubble.

Gideon shakes his head. “That’s a double negative and we’ve spoken about that bef-”

“Oh here you go again with that smart ass bullshit! Treatin’ me like I’m some sort of dumbass! Some of us don’ wanna go to school and spend our lives kissing people’s feet and asking for a good grade, Gid!“ Jasper replies, pacing back and forth.

“Do you think I’d like to spend my life doing that? No! Of course not, that’s why I go to school, so I don’t have to kiss feet and ask for a promotion!”

Jasper turns to his brother. “Fuck off! You know a hard workin’ man is allowed that liberty-”

“That’s a double standard!” Gideon points at him.

Jasper throws his arms down, angrily clenching his fists. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stop tryna act like you’re smarter than me!”

Gideon shakes his head. “Jasper, this isn’t even the point of the conversation. I want you to come with us to the New York. We can get you a nice job there and an education so you don’t have to-”

“Didn’t you hear me Gid?” Jasper asks angrily.

Gideon rolls his eyes. “Fine. No education. But we can still get you a nice job, and-”

Jasper shakes his head. “I don’t give a shit! I don’t want to go anywhere with that man!”

Gideon stares at his brother for a moment. “Jasper, Ben Young saved our lives four years ago. He took us in, fed us, gave us warmth, and took us from that awful place. You owe him respect and kindness for that much.”

Jasper nearly growls as tears form in his eyes. “I didn’t wanna go! I felt safe in Helena, Gid! I felt like I had some control there! And worst of all, he took us away from our parents, Gid! How do we know our parents aren’t there right now? Waiting for us? We’ll never know, Gid! Never!”

Gideon looks at the ceiling and speaks to himself for a moment before turning to his brother, anger now in his eyes. “Our parents aren’t there, Jasper! Our parents left us! They never loved us, you understand? They left us and I had to take care of you! They are never coming back ther-”

Gideon looks at his brother’s face, taking a step back from the situation and seeing the hurt in his eyes.

“So. All those times you said they could come back today were lies? When you were telling me that when I was crying at night cause I felt so sick that I was hurting? When we were so hungry, we couldn’t think straight? All those times were big fat lies, huh?” Jasper says softly. “Just like that Ben Young said, right? Nothing is true, everything is permitted, huh?”

“No, Jasper, I didn’t mean that-” Gideon reaches out to him, but Jasper slaps his hands away, a face of a broken man etched there.

“I think you need to go with Mr. Young, Gideon.”

Gideon was shocked. He rarely ever called him by his full name nowadays. Jasper turns away from his brother.

“Jasper, I-...”

Jasper looks away and out the window of their room. Gideon lets out a deep breath.

“Okay. I love you, Jasper. Know that I’ll always love you, my brother.”

And the comment was met with no reply as Gideon walks out the door.

~

_July 27th, 1878._   
_Boise, Idaho._

Dr. Gideon Hunt, now bearing sideburns, walks through the doors of the front doors of the Boise Prison. He is wearing his usual vest with a collared shirt and slacks, now with a grey overcoat and a top hat. He walks into the station and is immediately greeted by a friendly deputy.

“Hello Sir, how can we help you today?”

Gideon Hunt clears his throat. “My name is Gideon, I have an appointment to see Jasper Hunt.”

The deputy’s face turns into a frown. “Why would you want to see that cretin?”

“He’s...” Too embarrassed to say ‘my brother’, he says “...an old client of mine.”

“Ahh... I see. Right this way.” The deputy leads him into the visiting area where a glass window with holes in it is separating the two sides. Gideon pulls a chair out and sits down.

“We’ll retrieve the prisoner. One moment.” The deputy replies before heading into the back.

Gideon taps on the counter lightly, setting his hat off to the sides and running his hands over his now slightly more defined sideburns. He clears his throat again, just as the visitor doors burst open on the prisoner’s side and the deputies drag in the prisoner. He wrestles away from the grips of the two men.

The prisoner known as Jasper Hunt looks quite... terrible today. He has a thick layer of stubble, dirty skin, long hair, a stained shirt, and tattered trousers on. He’s still quite muscular and athletic, as Gideon remembers him.

“Git off o’ me! I can go there mysel-” Jasper looks to see his brother on the other side of the glass and his eyes bulge out. “Um... please leave us for a while. We’re gonna be a bit...”

Jasper walks over and sits down at the chair as the deputies leave. He looks at his brother for a moment.

“Wow... you’ve... gotten hairier.”

Gideon smiles. “And you have gotten dirtier.”

Jasper clears his throat. “How’d you uh... how’d you know I was here?”

“Mr. Young visited me after I got my degree. I’m a Doctor now, by the way. He told me what you’ve been up to the past ten years.” Gideon informed him.

“A Doctor? My big brother a Doctor...? Wow...” Jasper shakes his head slightly.

Gideon nods. “Yes, but that’s not the point. Jasper... what possessed you to do those things?”

“What things?” Jasper asks.

“Don’t play coy with me, Jasper. I know. Ben Young told me everything. You’ve been conning people out of money, robbing people, and killed a man in cold blood when he wouldn’t give you the money he owed you in a poker game. Why? Why would you do that?” Gideon asks calmly.

Jasper looks shocked by the question. “Gid... I...”

“Don’t call me that. The brother I once knew called me that. His name was Jasper Hunt and he was a proud, hard working man. Not a thief and a killer with no cause.”

“Gid, come on, don’t be like that. I just... I needed the money. It ain’t easy to come by these days. And I... I needed it.” Jasper explains and Gideon shakes his head.

“You know how you could’ve avoided this whole situation? By coming with me and Mr. Young to New York.” He says to him and Jasper’s eyes glint with anger.

“Don’t you talk to me about New York, ya hear? I’m not in the mood for that shit.” Jasper tells him.

Gideon looks him in the eye. “You don’t have the right to tell me that.”

“Fuck you, Gid. Fuck you all the way to hell! I don’t regret not going to New York for a second. When I made that decision, I finally made a change in my life. I took control of something. Control. It’s something you wouldn’t understand, being one of those shitty people who say go with the flow and all that crap!” Jasper replies.

Gideon clicks his tongue. “I believe in a man’s personal liberties. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. A concept that you, Jasper, don’t understand. You’ve given me this speech before we left and in a letter you sent to me nine years ago. You think you have control of your life? Over other people? No. That’s not how it works.”

“I swear to God, Gid, if you don’t stop with that bullshit-”

“We’re done here, Jasper. I was considering bailing out my brother, but I see I don’t have a brother worth bailing out anymore.” Gideon says as he puts on his hat.

Jasper immediately jumps up and slams his fist against the glass, Gideon looking at him with a scared expression before rushing out the door. “Git back here, Gideon! Get the fuck back here and bail me out of this shithole! I hate you! I’ll fucking get you, I swear!”

~

_August 5th, 1878._   
_New York, New York._

Gideon sits in his chair in the living room of the home of Ben Young, reading his favorite copy of The Prince by Machiavelli. He reads by the fireplace before hearing the clicking of a door opening and closing. He sets the book down and stands up to see the middle aged man who saved his life nearly fourteen years ago from the likes of the Sheriff and his deputy, Ben Young.

“Mr. Young, hello there. You asked me to come for something important?” He asks, walking up and extending his hand out.

Ben Young turns to Gideon and smiles, taking his hat off and placing it on the counter before hugging him, not accepting his handshake. Gideon smiles slightly and hugs him back. He pulls away to see Ben smiling.

“How’re you doin’, kid? How’s Jasper?” Ben asks, taking his coat off to set it on a coat rack along with his belts and holsters. He even takes off his boots.

Gideon shakes his head at the name. “I’m fine. Jasper... he’s...”

Ben Young shakes his head and pats the younger man on the back. “It’s all right, kid. Your brother is a good person. Just... troubled.”

Gideon nods and walks with him to the living room. They both take seats across from each other.

“Gid, I brought you here for a reason. A very important reason.” He looks at Gideon.

“You don’t need to speak to me like a child, Ben. If you have something to say to me, get on with it.” Gideon interrupts.

Ben points at him. “That kind of disrespect and impatience made me question whether I should even talk to you about this.”

Gideon nods, his cheeks reddening from embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Ben. Please, continue.”

Ben Young nods. “All right. You know how I... am known to disappear for weeks on end?”

“I remember very well.”

“There is a reason for that. See, I’m... or at least, was apart of an important society. We believe in freedom and the people of earths’ right to it.”

“What are you saying?” Gideon asks.

“I’m saying...” Ben Young grabs two bracers from a locked box under his coffee table and sets them on the table. There, in metal, is blade sheathed in leather with the same symbol that Ben Young always wears on his belt and coat. “Welcome to the Assassins, kid.”

Gideon looks up in confusion at Ben Young, who just smiles.

~

The animus is deactivated and Matthew looks around, seeing a tired Zane sipping coffee from a mug as he looks toward the monitor.

“Interesting man, that Jasper is.” Zane comments before setting down his coffee and helping Matthew up.

“Fuck... I feel like I’m hungover...” Matthew murmurs.

Zane nods. “Yup. That’s how it feels. Here, go sit over there and eat, I bet another subject will be showing up for her appointment any minute, so you can take a bit of a break. However, we may strap you into the second animus if you finish early and everything goes well with her, so sit tight.”

Matthew nods, too tired and zoned out to argue as he lurches over to the lounge where a hot meal and a soda is waiting for him. He begins to devour the food, finding himself to be surprisingly hungry as the door to the room opens.

~

_November 19th, 1878._   
_Boston, Massachusetts._

“Erm... do you really think this is necessary?”

Gideon Hunt and Ben Young find themselves in the basement of an inn near the docks of Boston. There, a small fighting and brawling tournament is held.

Several months before, Gideon began his training as a new Assassin recruit. He was taught the history of the order, its customs, traditions, and its principals. He was trained in the way of the shadow, moving in and out of plain sight, using his knowledge of the human mind and peripheral vision to his advantage, being able to tale Ben Young himself without him knowing. His movement speed and flow is incredible, being able to traverse the city of New York in a matter of minutes using his free-running ability developed as a child and honed as a recruit. His body has become more athletic and toned because of his training as well. He has trained to fight, but it has become something Ben Young hasn’t been able to instill into him. He needs to learn to fight for his life. And that’s why they’re here.

Ben Young smirks and shoves Gideon forward, the recruit stumbling into the crowd of rowdy fighters. He turns to Ben Young for a moment before a recruiter pulls him aside.

“You lookin’ ta fight, boyo?” The recruiter looks him over. “You don’t look like much, but you might be squirmy, so it’ll be fun to watch. We’ll put you in a match against The Bonebreaker. He ain’t much eitha’.”

Gideon is shoved into the middle of the ring and Ben Young smirks slightly. “I love pussies with cocky-ass names.”

The recruit finds himself in the middle of a ring of men, facing an opponent with a skinny stature. The other man, named Bonebreaker, gestures for him to bring it on. Gideon looks around before putting his hands up in a usual Assassin fighting stance, crouching down low slightly. The opposing fighter raises an eyebrow, not recognizing the style at all, but shrugs, advancing, shuffling slightly.

“KILL THE BITCH!” One of the patrons yells, taunting Gideon.

The Bonebreaker laughs but is quickly met with a thrusting kick, meeting the fighter in the stomach and pushing him back, immediately followed up with a knee from Gideon and then a kick to his calf, pushing him down slightly. He looks up only to see a flying elbow from the recruit, pushing him to the ground, but he regains his footing quickly. Gideon smiles, getting a bit cocky as he throws another punch, but the fighter easily dodges it and punches him with all of his force. The recruit gets knocked back, falling backward into the crowd of men who shove him back into the fight. He’s met with an elbow and his back hits the ground. He gets to his feet quickly, only for the fighter to advance on him again. He tries for the flying elbow, but it is blocked by the fighter and he hits him in the chest once and tries to hit Gideon again, but Gideon grabs the fist and headbutts him as hard as he can, knocking the fighter back into a pillar, where Gideon kicks him as hard as he can into it, knocking the breath out of the fighter and winning the match.

The win is met with cheers. Gideon is taken back by the recruiter and he waits until his next match, where he is paired up with a fighter named Richard.

“‘ey ya fucker. Come at me,” Richard tells him, gesturing for the young man to fight him.

Gideon advances slowly and tries to go for a thrust kick, only for Richard to dodge, grab his hair, and pull it back. However, Gideon grabs the man’s arm, wrenches it to the right and kicks the man in the center of the chest, following that up with a knee to the same spot, causing the brawler to stumble back. Richard throws a punch and then another, both connecting with Gideon’s jaw and chin, but the Assassin Recruit ducks under the third one, throwing a punch of his own into his kidney.

“Fuck! Imma be pissin’ blood!” He yells, but Gideon silences him with a double axe handle that reduces him to his knees.

Richard looks up only for Gideon to kick him straight across the temple, knocking him out. Once again, as the cheers fire off, the recruiter pulls him out of the crowd for him to wait for his next opponent. Ben Young walks up to him.

“You’re doin’ pretty good, kid. You’re in the finals of this tournament now, if I translated that fuckin’ Irish garble right. You’re fighting a big guy, good brawler. Going to be a lot harder. His name’s Seth. The bald guy in the corner with the chin line beard.” He tells him softly and Gideon nods.

Gideon is thrown back into the arena of men before long. Standing across from him is a man with a black chin line beard with no mustache or hair. He laughs as the crowd begins to cheer their champion on. Gideon gets into his fighting stance, analyzing his opponent for weaknesses.

Seth advances slowly and Gideon leaps forward, throwing three straight jabs into his stomach, however, Seth spins around and elbows Gideon in the temple, only for a knee-jerk reaction to occur and for the recruit to kick him in his tailbone, pushing him right into the crowd of men, being pushed right back into his extended foot. Gideon stumbles back, dazed, watching the brawler get up from the floor.

Seth rushes forward and hits Gideon with a few jabs to his face, finally hitting him with a hard right hook, knocking him off his feet. Gideon hits the ground and is met with a kick. The impact reminds him of sixteen years ago when he was first saved by Ben Young from the Sheriff’s beating. But this time, he had to save himself.

So as another kick came to his body, this time to his face, his hands shoot out and grab his foot, wrenching it back and throwing Seth onto his back. He rolls into a full mount, peppering Seth with jabs and hammer punches before being lifted off the full mount , into the air, and slammed into the ground again, only for Gideon to roll into his feet.

Seth throws a right hook, Gideon grabs the arm, pulls him to the right and hits him with a hard left, causing him to waver slightly. He notices the ankle starting to buckle and immediately targets it, thrusting his foot into it and causing him to go onto one knee. Gideon leaps onto the raised knee and jumps off, about to elbow Seth in the face, only for the brute to grab him his elbow and body, lifthimg up into the air, and slamming him onto the ground as hard as possible. The air from Gideon’s lungs rushes out as he himself is now peppered with punches.

Gideon, on pure instinct, lifts both of his knees up and slams into the back of Seth in the full mount position, causing him to roll forward. Seth turns to Gideon and sees him get to his feet, one arm coming off of his stomach.

The Assassin Recruit, Gideon, analyzes the man carefully. He’s seen his technique. An old fashioned brawler with strength to match two or three of the men here. He shakes his head slightly. No technique. Much like most of the people here.

Seth rushes forward, intent on knocking the boy out, but Gideon rolls out of the way, claws his back, and pulls him to himself once more. He leaps in the air and knees the brute in the jaw, causing him to fall back into the crowd. Again, with a leap, Gideon executes a move before its time, a superman punch, knocking Seth out of the ring of men and onto a chair, nearly breaking the wooden contraption.

Gideon is then met with cheers and a blur of celebration. He doesn’t remember much of it, only being handed an envelope of money and a pint of beer he didn’t drink. After the celebration, Ben Young and him walked out of the bar and into an alleyway, Gideon now with his usual vest and formal attire on.

Ben pats Gideon on the back. “Very nice, kid. I knew you had it in you to become a natural-”

Gideon stays with his back turned and Ben spins around to see three men, one with a wooden board, walking down the alleyway toward him.

“We had a lot o’ money ridin’ on that match, kid. Seth was supposed to win and you were never supposed to be there,” One of them says.

Ben is about to advance, but a hand holds him back and gestures for him to leave. The older man nods hesitantly and quickly leaves the area, Gideon’s back still turned to the men.

“You know... I haven’t practiced surgery in a while.”

Gideon spins around and his hidden blades on each wrist are revealed, his eyes glinting with a certain controlled madness. He smiles in a gruesome way.

“I think I should start to make up for lost time.”

~

_February 18th, 1879._   
_New Mexico._

Ben Young taps his foot, waiting outside of Dr. Gideon Hunts’ chambers in his estate. He looks above to see the new electrified lighting that was installed a few months ago. What a wonder, it was.

“Kid, you dead in there?” He asks, slamming his fist onto the door once.

“Patience, Mr. Young! I need to look optimum for my debut!” Gideon shouts through the door.

Ben Young rolls his eyes. “All right, fine. I’m waiting.”

For a few minutes, Ben leans against the hallway wall, his arms crossed. He chews on a toothpick lightly,something for his mouth to do while he waited. And finally, Gideon did emerge from the room.

Gideon was wearing a sleeveless white duster coat that had its tails reaching his heels. Under that, a grey vest and a collared shirt that accompanies a seat of belts, holsters, slacks, leather gloves, and leather boots. On both of his wrists are hidden blades, while in the holsters are two revolvers, and the bandoliers wrapped around his waist are throwing knives and ammo. His hood was most curious, however, as it looked similar to an assassin’s hood until it got to the top, where it became a triangular hat that dipped down into a beak-like hat. Around his neck was a red bandana.

“So? Do I look the part?” Gideon asks as he wipes his vest off with his gloved hands.

Ben Young smiles. “More than I ever did, kid. Come on, let’s get you ready. It’s your big night.”

“Wait... that’s tonight?” Gideon asks and follows Ben Young through the estate until they hit a large war room, filled with Templar names and weapons. Ben Young nods.

The older Assassin points to a small picture on the map of New Mexico, one of a man with facial hair on his chin and slicked back hair. “That man is named John Tunstall. You’re going to kill him. Today.”

Gideon looks baffled. “Wh-what? Now? Why?”

“Tunstall is a criminal, but not only that, he’s a rancher working for the Templars, supplying them horses, workers, and cattle. He’s a low-ranking target that needs to be stopped,” Ben told him matter-of-factly and then handed him a map. “Take this and ride to his ranch. He’s being pursued by the authorities, so he may have already left. Keep a watchful eye. I wish you luck.”

Gideon nods slowly, putting the map in the pocket inside his coat before walking silently out of the door, Ben Young following him closely until they get outside. Ben goes to the stable and pulls a chestnut horse out of the stable.

“This one here’s new, my old girl gave birth to her about six years ago. Put her to good use. Her name is Calliope, ya know, after the muse. Remember? You gave me the idea of that name a long time ago. And uh... you can just call her Cal, she responds to both,” Ben says to him and hands him the reigns of the horse. She has already been saddled and completely readied for the journey.

So Gideon climbs on top of his horse, Calliope, and it whinnies, trotting forward slightly. The new Assassin smiles, his eyes shadowed from view because of his hat adorned on his hood.

Ben pats the horse on her mane lightly. “You take good care of her, ya hear? She’s a good horse. Young, but well-behaved.”

Gideon nods. “Thank you, Ben. I will return soon.”

Ben Young takes a moment, but hesitantly nods slowly. “You best be off then, kid. Remember our creed. Nothing is true...”

“...But everything is permitted,” Gideon replies before letting loose a loud hyah, hitting it with his spurs, and taking off in a full gallop.

Ben Young watches his apprentice, his hard work, and the closest thing he has to a son ride off into the distance, toward John Tunstall’s ranch.

~

_February 18th, 1879._   
_Lincoln County._

John Tunstall rides his horse across the hills just near Lincoln County, a riding party of three deputies of New Mexico following close behind. The Templar makes a sharp right turn down a steep hill, losing the sight of his pursuers if just for a moment. His horse trots down over a flat plane of land and settles under a large tree.

John jumps off his horse tied to a tree and leans against the trunk of it. “Goddamn... I can’t keep going on like this. I need ta... I need ta turn myself in. Maybe they...they’ll show mercy. Hnh... Maybe.”

So he waits for a few minutes until the deputies find him. They gallop down the hill, the three deputies eventually sitting atop their horses in front of John Tunstall.

“Well... well... well. Look what we got here, fellas. A goddamn criminal. Ahah! This is gonna be fun...” One of them says, looking to his buddies who laugh along with him.

“I’m here... I’m here to turn myself in.” John says, holding his hands out for them to be bound.

The main rider scoffs. “Turn yourself in? Oh, you don’t understand. We’re not out for that. We’re out to have some fun and exact justice, Mr. Tunstall.”

“If you kill me, the whole order will be after you three idiots! We own this land! We own all of it! And by God, so help me-” John snarls, but is cut off by a gunshot just before his feet. John falls back onto the ground, scrambling up against the tree branch, not being able to get up out of terror.

“So who’s going to find out? This place is nearly abandoned, if anyone finds a corpse here, they’re gonna ride right past it. We got you where we want you, Tunstall.” The deputy tells him before pulling out his revolver.

John gulps down the spit in his mouth and closes his eyes, knowing it will be his final moments. However, instead of a gunshot, he hears a silent ‘tmp’ sound. He looks ahead to see someone leaping off the tree branch and on the back of the horse nimbly. The horse whinnies and rears back slightly, just enough to rattle the deputy a little bit.

“Shit!” He yells out before falling off.

The shadowed man leaps off the back of the horse as it begins to gallop away, spinning through the air, blades on his wrists extending outward, cutting the deputy to his left into a bloody mess. The one on the right attempts to shoot, but finds that his gun is jammed, and is met only with a throwing knife to the throat. The final deputy, the one that fell on the floor, attempts to move, finds that his ankle is busted.

“Ah! Goddammit! God fucking dammit!” He cries out, nearly in tears as he turns to see the shadowed man on top of one of his friend’s horses.

The shadowed man rides the horse over the deputy. “No! Please!”

And he rears it back...

Then allows the full weight of the horse to land on the man, killing him nearly instantly. The man stays silent for a moment. He jumps off the horse and slaps its ass, causing it to run away, none of them damaged in the slightest. He reaches down and pulls the revolver of the main deputy off of the ground. Dusting it off, he walks over to John Tunstall and his horse, which has a lantern strapped to it, revealing the darkness of night and the shadowed man’s identity.

Dr. Gideon Hunt, Assassin.

John sighs and shakes his head in relief, “Oh thank you, Sir. You’ve done me a most generous kindness.”

Gideon looks at the Templar for a moment, his eyes shadowed under his hat. He reaches out his free left hand to help him up.

“Oh. Again, I can’t thank you enough, Good Sir. I-” And as John extends his hand to grab Gideon’s, the Assassin flicks his hand up, a small pistol extending out and shooting a bullet through his chest.

John looks at his chest and falls back. “Wh-why?”

Gideon stands over his target. “Because I made a promise.”

He pulls the Templar’s revolver out and shoots it once, taking the deputy’s pistol and shooting John in the head once. Simply, the job was done. Gideon just tipped his hat and spun the revolver back through the air. Making the famed cross symbol with his hand, Gideon mutters a small prayer to allow the Templar to rest in peace. And just like that, he was gone in the shadows.

**Fin.**


End file.
